The Canley Police Training Centre (or The Canned Pigs Factory as some of the local jokers named it) was built in 1949 to train up the influx of new recruits that wanted to join the Metropolitan Police Force in the Canley area. It was also a Home Office reaction to the rising crime rates, especially looting, in London. The Second World War had been over for four years and many de-mobbed squaddies saw the Met as a kind of less disciplined version of the army they had grown to love but yet kept them away from their relatives and loved ones. Some liked, and indeed missed, Army life and joined back up after a couple of years but others wanted to be back home once again although they had enjoyed the power and respect the uniform brought as well as a new found feeling of wanting to help keep order. They had fought back the Nazi's and defeated them in Europe and now they wanted to clean up their own little part of the world. Ten years later though recruitment had dropped so the Home Office decided to turn it into the Trafford Way Police Station and updated it to the full with the latest crime-fighting equipment the early 1960's had to offer as well as keeping some of the training facilities. The station was home to many arrests and strange events in its three decades of history. The Kray twins were arrested once and brought in on charges of racketeering although nothing was ever proven. Film and TV stars that had fallen from grace also passed through its doors although these visits were usually hushed up or the arresting officers looked the other way if an autograph or a quick meeting with the wife was offered. Several well known villains also fell foul of the Trafford Way CID team upon its opening in 1962. The station's demise began in 1985 when a gas leak in the canteen blew away part of the Custody area killing several officers. Restoration and renovation was begun until a gang of local villains banded together and planned to make sure it never re-opened its doors and launched a series of arson attacks on the station which took out the CID offices, a couple of interview rooms and created more bodies. When the neighbouring Sun Hill Police Station was renovated in 1990 the Home Office made the decision to close Trafford Way, which would've required the harder work as it was very badly damaged, rather than have two whopping repair bills and several un-stationed officers to contend with. The neighbouring stations, Barton Street and Sun Hill could handle the extra work and staff it was decided. The last person to be arrested and charged at the nick was a habitual arsonist who was believed to have been part of the syndicate that launched the attacks although the others were never named. The station lay crumbling and dilapidated for over ten years after several attempts by the council to sell the land off to various Supermarket chains. The last Police officer to pass through the doorway was Superintendent Raymond Francis as he locked up the door for the last time, with a tear in his eye, on July 31st 1991 – that was until Sergeant Sheelagh Murphy paid a visit.
Sheelagh trod carefully through the debris, shining her torch into the darkness and carefully clutching the small gold cross around her neck. The structure still held up, but only barely and she half expected a ghost or some other creature of the night to come flying at her. The building was much larger than Sun Hill and more encapsulated in its time as the architecture told. The living quarters and large parade ground were the eldest but yet the least affected by the fire while the main station area was virtually cut off from the rest and it was here that Sheelagh started her search. Most of the charred wreckage still bore some similarity to its functions and she recognised many different rooms such as the cells, interview rooms and canteen. Getting back to Sun Hill early she had put in enough overtime to appease Inspector Gold and had left with a sense of restlessness. Patrick was working late so to save herself from going back to an empty house and to satisfy her curiosity she drove up to Trafford Way although at this moment in time her empty house in Allenshaw Avenue was looking more inviting. Why would anyone book a cab to here of all places? Maybe if the customer had been truly renovating the place then it would have been understandable but a search of the PNC and a look into the records during her break had revealed a false name, false address and no such redesigning scheme. If only Matt Boyden had bothered doing his homework then maybe it wouldn't be so bad but now she felt that any trace of any clues were long gone. Who knows what the man was doing up here? Then again it was the perfect place to meet someone if you didn't want anybody to know. Hearing a crunch beneath her foot Sheelagh reluctantly shone the torch onto the floor dreading what would be down there, she would always feel a pang of guilt if she crushed an insect by accident. The crunch had been made by a shard of glass from one of the cracked windows but she could now see that the floor was covered in some sort of white powder, it looked like a bag of flour had been dropped on it, and it was damp so it had been there quite a while. Sheelagh knelt down and scooped some of it up in her hand to examine it more closely.
It looked like Cocaine.
Taking an evidence pocket from her handbag, she had grabbed some on her way out in case they came in useful, she bagged some of the powder up, put it back in her bag and made a note in her pocket book. At last she had a motive, a drug deal must have taken place here at some point, either that or the goodbye party for the Station had been quite a wild time. Now did the man come here to buy or sell?
Retracing her steps back out of the building she decided to make a quick search of the perimeter. Sheelagh started to walk across a large patch of grass, still partially singed as no-one had made an effort to re-grow it, and realised the missing taxi must have stood about there. Eager to test her theory she strode around the corner, slipped on a patch of mud and skidded into a ditch. Her head was spinning around, as she lay twisted in the mud trying to collect her thoughts. Various memories and incidents from her life replayed themselves instantly in her mind. Reaching out she tried to find something solid to grab onto but felt a couple of empty beer bottles instead. Sheelagh sat up, grabbed onto a tree root, pulled herself up onto her feet and started to wipe the muck away, promising herself a hot bath and a bottle of wine when she got home. Standing on the same tree root she managed to yank a branch down from the nearby Oak and pull herself out. Relieved to be free, and still quite shaken up after the fall, she now tried to make herself more presentable by tidying her hair up, brushing the muck off, retrieving her bag and trying to salvage her beige coat. When she finally looked over the horizon she caught sight of a sleek, silver Jaguar parked on the same patch of grass she had just walked across. Had she been knocked out cold in the ditch? Feeling her head there wasn't any traces of blood or any kind of bump at all so if she didn't hear the car draw up then it's possible that Joe McNulty didn't hear his cab being driven away. That would also explain the beer bottles, Joe must have sneaked away into the dip to have a quick drink as his passenger attended to his business. Sheelagh felt so excited at the breakthrough, grinning from ear to ear, that she almost forgot about the occupants of the Jaguar, who they might be and whether they were watching her at that very moment.
The car was deserted but had arrived only recently, the smell of petrol fumes was still ripe in the air and Sheelagh could feel the heat radiating from it as she touched the bonnet. Luckily she had left her own car parked outside the Supermarket, half a mile away, in case anybody reported seeing it and a patrol was sent to investigate. It wasn't worth the Inspector knowing if she just wanted a quick snoop around and then got some shopping. All that would have to change now as she glanced around quickly convinced that the driver or occupants could be watching her. A voice in the dark made her blood run cold as she froze in her steps. It was only a sneeze but a mumbled apology, coming soon afterwards, confirmed that at least two people were about somewhere. Sheelagh dove behind the car for cover and made a dash for the side of the building. It was now she realised that the voices were definitely coming from inside. Peering in through one of the windows, or what was left of it, she saw the figures of two men standing in what was probably once the station canteen. The window was cracked quite severely and was covered with grime so Sheelagh's vision was obscured. Squinting her eyes and trying to see through the dirt she could just make out the silhouettes of two figures. Both were males, one was standing upright looking like he was waiting for someone, maybe even a group, the other was hunched over slightly. The hunched man was in his early twenties, quite tall and thin with a short haircut. He wore jeans and trainers and was swamped by a large warm looking navy blue coat. The second was older, perhaps late fifties, and a lot more relaxed especially with a medium sized cigar poking out of his mouth and holding a smart black suitcase. His clothes were smarter and lot older, a black suit and light blue tie covered with a long green coat which brushed against his thinning grey hair. Luckily for Sheelagh though the cracks that obscured her vision were also large enough to enable her to hear them.
"Can't I sit down now?" the younger man was asking, covering his mouth with a tissue.
" No! I told ya, no touchin' anythin'" the older man said in a broad cockney accent.
"Don't think the cops are gonna nick me from me arse print, dad!" replied the younger man in a softer accent. It was obvious he had some sort of flu and wasn't very happy about being dragged away from his warm bed. Part of Sheelagh wanted to nurse him, she knew the signs having dealt with flu more times than she cared to remember, but her common sense told her that it was better to stay still with one hand on her mobile phone.
"They can ID you from virtually anythin' these days, boy, DNA you see. Old mate of mine from 'ackney 'ad 'is boy sent down a few months ago by the ear-print they found on the window of this old dear's 'ouse 'e done over. Makes a bloke paranoid after a time and it was bad enough you sneezed that bag of Charlie Chalk all over the shop the last time, I've 'ad to reschedule everythin'. Just you keep those tissues in your pockets, vital evidence them, it's just as bad as havin' your dabs smeared over the entire place!" his father complained.
"Yeah, well, feel like shit don't I! What you wanna drag me out 'ere for. Meet this bloke on your own can't you or couldn't you 'ave found a place more inviting than this? Why couldn't it be somewhere warm like the pub?" the son replied sniffing.
"Oi! I've told you before, I'm not gonna be 'ere always and I want you to learn this sort of stuff for yourself. Plus you got them O-levels or whatever they call 'em these days and I'm proud of that, could do with some proper grey matter after all these years. Thinkin' on our feet is what it's all about in this game. Two of us is double the power, makin' sure we aren't tucked up!"
"Wish I was tucked up, nice warm bed" moaned the son.
"As for the place, sentimental reasons really, I was nicked 'ere once, back in the day when I was your age. I'm an old romantic at hear, see, suppose it's my way of sticking two fingers up at this old dump," he took another drag of his cigar. "Old DI Thornley, the stuck-up git, would turn in 'is grave if 'e knew 'is old nick was being used to deal. Pompous prat 'e was, you should've seen 'is face when I got sent down, never forget it, smug and 'orrible. Glad they torched the place I was."
"You didn't do it did you? I know Mickey 'arris was in on it."
"Ask me know questions and I'll tell you no lies," smiled the old man, stubbing his cigar out on one of the old desks. "I'll never forget what Thornley's face looked like that night either!"
"If you're so worried about then how come you're puttin' that out in here, they can get DNA from your fag type too y'know, dad" said the son grumpily.
"Don't think I'm gonna bring the good stuff up to this 'ole do ya, no, bought some cheap from Tone after 'e came back from Calais the other week. Very 'ard to prove," the father replied throwing the stubbed cigar end onto the floor and grinding it into the ground with his foot. "There, job done!"
"When's this bloke getting 'ere anyway," asked the son, sniffing.
"Stop worryin', shouldn't be too long now. I said eight and e' will be 'ere by eight if e' knows what's good for 'im. Can you imagine the Muppet taking a cab up 'ere last time?" shouted the father.
Sheelagh crouched by the wall for another half an hour, not knowing whether it was holding her up or the other way around, it seemed like it was going to fall apart if the young man sneezed too hard. As a blue Lexus drew up beside the Jaguar she frantically dialled Sun Hill and arranged for some back up, delayed by about twenty minutes, hoping that the whole relief wouldn't storm the place before the deal was done. A man got out of the car carrying a brown briefcase and a nervous look. Straightening his tire he pushed open the door and entered the building, looking around him to double-check every nook and cranny. The man was quite tall with neat brown hair and a thin face, half covered by a pair of glasses; he wore a plain black suit with a red tie. Sheelagh thought he must be in business, the suit look comfortable and hand-made, it looked like his usual wear and not that it had been forced upon him like some dealers that liked to kid themselves they were important people when they met their suppliers. The guy might work in an office block and supply his colleagues with enough stuff to stave off their boring little lives for a few hours and in return he gets to be the toast of the office, the cool guy with the 'dodgy' contacts. In front of his friends he was probably all front but right now he was stripped down to his real self, in a state of fear and unfamiliarity. Through the window Sheelagh clearly saw the three men dealing, well, as clear as she could see it past the grime, filth and cracks.
As the three stood around arguing the whole room flashed bright blue and Sheelagh's blood froze as she turned around to see the Area Car charging up the hill at full speed with its sirens piercing the air and its lights flooding the ground. Sheelagh's face was lit up with horror, she had already given orders out during her phone-call to wait at least another ten minutes to ensure that the deal was done and she had enough evidence. The men inside the building certainly noticed all the commotion outside and made every effort to leave by any conceivable exit. Slamming open the car door and striding out into the night air, like Judge Dredd with a hangover, was Des Taviner, asp snapped into place, and with a mean look on his face he ran into the building shouting out Sheelagh's name. Reg Hollis locked his door and ambled along after his partner. The businessman ran straight out the front and unwittingly into Des who snapped the asp across his neck.
"Where are you goin' 'otshot?" Des sneered.
"I'm-I'm afraid there has been a mistake, if, if I could just get to my car the blue Lexus with the smart interior over by the tree then I could explain in full," the man stuttered.
"Well 'I'm afraid' we are going to 'ave to 'old you for a while in a nice little ground floor penthouse back at the nick. Very spacious it is, yeah, even got bars across the window's to keep the bugs out!" replied Des.
"I warn you my-my father's a good friend of Chief Inspector Derek Conway. I-I…this could get you in a lot of t-trouble."
"Derek Conway"
"Yes I believe they had dinner together just last week. Now you let me go and I'll make sure he never gets to hear of any of this," the man sounded more confident.
"REG! Get this piece of filth out of me sight!" Des shouted, striking the man with his baton and herding the prisoner over to his waiting partner.
" What's the charge, Des? I told you we should've waited before coming up 'ere" grumbled Reg as he ushered the prisoner into the car.
"I dunno, wearing last season's suit I suppose, whatever! SHEELAGH!" Des screeched storming into the building.
" You shouldn't 'ave said that really," Reg said to the prisoner. "Chief Inspector Conway sadly passed away last year, terrible tragedy it was, of course I knew it was going to 'appen, I'm psychic you see. Saying that only wound Des up further I'm afraid, quite cut up about it 'e was, yeah, very sensitive bloke on the inside y'know."
Sheelagh sighed, hearing the various crashes and bangs now coming from inside the building, and turned her attention to the son trying to wriggle out of another window, a couple down from the one she was looking through. She waited until he was almost through then ran up and twisted his arm behind his back.
"I am arresting you for intent to supply a Class A drug. You do not have to say anything but what you do say will be taken down and used in evidence against you," she said sternly.
" I'm not saying nothing to you!" he replied between sniffs.
"Tell that to your nose," added Sheelagh. " I can't stand the sound of all that sniffing, and take these with you!" She took a handful of tissues from her bag, wiped his nose with one, and then stuffed them in his pocket. As she marched him towards the front of the building she noticed that two more cars had now arrived and all three criminals had been rounded up. The father having been as he tried to dash out through the back.
"That the lot the, Sarge?" asked Reg.
"Yes Reg, all three, dealing in Class A drugs. Cuff this one would you please?" she said handing her prisoner over.
"What were you doing up 'ere anyway? You look filthy?" he asked.
"Well I…" Sheelagh began.
"Anyone for a party back at my place?" smiled Des as he emerged from the building with two briefcases; one of drugs the other of money. "You OK, Sarge? You look like you've been mud wrestling with a 'ippo. I love a girl not afraid to get 'er 'ands dirty."
"I fell over, Des that's all."
"Hey, whatever you get up to outside the nick is no concern of mine. As long as I'm invited next time" he grinned.
Reg saw the van pull up and helped to load the three complaining prisoners inside it. They were all still arguing and trying to plead their cases before they had even got back to the station. Some things never changed, everyone was innocent and no one was guilty, as ever, the same things would be rehashed at least three times over the next day or so. He observed Sergeant Murphy, looking quite tired, sitting side saddle in the area car, bagging up some evidence. Even Des seemed oddly quiet, starring up at the charred building, looking mournful and full of regret. Once more, he thought to himself, it would fall to him to hold the relief together and keep everyone's spirits up.